


⬔unmasked

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24044212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: JT helps Malcolm home when it seems like Malcolm's having an off day.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 115





	⬔unmasked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rocknghorss](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rocknghorss).



The case files were still in Gil’s office, waiting to be returned when he and Dani got back from the field. JT needed them to cross-reference against his findings on his computer screen. He approached the open door, hoping to find them right on top of Gil’s desk.

“Woah,” JT commented upon entering Gil’s office, finding Malcolm hunched over on the couch. “Sorry. I’ll go.” He disappeared back out the door, closing it behind him to give him some privacy.

“Wait,” a muffled voice asked just as the door was clicking.

JT stepped back inside and closed the door at his back. “What’s up?” JT asked in an attempt to maintain nonchalance.

Malcolm didn’t respond, snuffles and heavy breathing the only thing JT heard in the room.

“You don’t seem like yourself,” JT spoke when it didn’t appear Malcolm would say something.

“It’s still me,” Malcolm got out. “You’re just seeing all of it.”

JT went through a mental checklist — had he had enough water, enough to eat? The guy never had enough sleep. Should he even ask? “Do you want a drink or something?” JT offered, unsure what to do.

“Alcohol will make this worse.” Malcolm’s hands gripped his head. What was he struggling with?

“It’s 2 o’clock," JT scoffed. "I meant water or coffee.” He remembered what Malcolm usually drank with Dani. “Or tea.”

“I’m fine.” Malcolm gestured his hand to dismiss the offer.

“That mask is somewhere on the floor, man.” And the Brooklyn Bridge wasn’t looking for any buyers.

The silence returned, JT thinking maybe he had said the wrong thing. He wasn’t the Bright whisperer. Gil and Dani were much better at this. His own wife even gave him a hard time sometimes for not knowing what to do when she was upset. It didn't mean he didn't care.

JT crouched at the door, choosing not to approach, yet speaking more at Malcolm’s level. “Some days, you just gotta call it a day, y’know? Go home and do whatever it is you do to relax.”

“Yoga. Meditate.”

“Tally’s been doing the yoga. Keeps me in a little less trouble with the food situation.” Another thing he couldn’t seem to get right.

A hint of a chuckle went into Malcolm’s knee. Progress.

“It’s okay to take the afternoon. No one’ll tattle,” JT reached for anything that might reassure him. “Gil would probably be thrilled to hear you took some downtime, anyway.”

“He’d be worried,” Malcolm corrected, finally lifting his head a little bit. His hands clutched at his side and he lowered back down, JT catching a grimace before his face disappeared again.

“What’s going on?” The way Malcolm held himself, he was more than upset.

“I ate a little breakfast? Lunch? Brunch? Whatever time it was. And I haven’t slept. And — “ A whooshing breath pushed out of his mouth, his body visibly tensing. Malcolm left it at, “Today’s not a good day. Usually I'm better at...holding it together.”

“Can I give you a ride home?” JT offered. If Malcolm didn’t take it, JT wasn’t quite sure what he would do.

“Yeah,” Malcolm agreed. 

Malcolm didn’t move from his spot. “You need some help?” JT asked.

“Think I’ve got it.” Malcolm pushed to his feet and swayed, his hand catching himself on Gil’s desk. His other arm wrapped protectively around his stomach.

“You’re giving Elmer’s a run for their money,” JT teased, his hands at the ready to step in if Malcolm were to take a nosedive.

“Color’s right in the name,” Malcolm returned.

JT gave him the side-eye at the loose reference to his former surname. Malcolm steady enough to start walking, JT checked the hallway, finding the coast clear. “Let’s go.”

They walked out of the precinct to a department SUV, Malcolm more shuffling than stepping, JT keeping an eye on him the whole way. JT didn’t want to have to explain to the boss how his kid took a header into the pavement. He wanted to see more than a desk for the next week.

* * *

When JT pulled over in front of Malcolm’s building, Malcolm shared, “If Gil asks, just tell him I went to get some sleep. Everything else always passes.”

Everything else? What were they talking? Cramps? A headache, maybe? Was he still seeing things? Was he showing any weakness at all because he was mentally exhausted? He didn’t want to pry, but he could suggest, “Can I at least see you up the stairs so we don’t find your ass laid out in the stairwell?”

Malcolm nodded.

Malcolm’s grip was white-knuckled on the banister, his other hand fisting his shirt the way up.

“What the hell’d you eat, man? Something atomic?” JT attempted to keep things light.

“Crackers with peanut butter,” Malcolm muttered. “Gastric disaster.”

JT held Malcolm’s upper arm when he stutter-stepped, keeping his grip until he steadied.

“When it gets like this, feeding me anything is a losing battle,” Malcolm revealed. No wonder the guy was so skinny.

“TUMS doesn’t cut it, huh?”

“Less stress, more sleep. Some mix of medicine that doesn’t kill me,” Malcolm sounded really tired, the ongoing struggle taking its toll.

They reached the landing, Malcolm retrieving his keys from his pocket.

“Look, you don’t have to knock the door down this time,” Malcolm joked. Of course he was poking fun when it was a tossup whether he’d pass out.

“That wasn’t me,” JT defended. Again.

“It’s funnier saying it was ‘cause it bugs you.” Malcolm quirked an eyebrow, giving JT a glimpse of the profiler he was more accustomed to.

JT watched Malcolm walk inside, disappearing around the wall to his bed.

“I’m officially not dead in the stairwell.” Malcolm sighed. “You can go back to work, JT.”

JT hesitated in the doorway. “You need a puke bucket or something?”

Not getting a response, JT walked to the kitchen and retrieved the garbage can from under the sink. He filled a glass of water and brought both things to Malcolm’s bedside. “How did you know where those were?” Malcolm asked.

“Everyone keeps them in the same spot,” JT pointed out, setting the glass on the nightstand. “Plus, I’m a detective.”

“Ha. Ha,” Malcolm overemphasized. “I’m good. Thank you.”

He took in Malcolm’s supine form, shoes kicked off but still in his full suit and restrained to the bed. He had no idea how that was restful, but he sure as hell wasn’t asking. “Okay. I’ll lock up. Shoot a text if you need anything.”

“Yes, friend.”

JT left the loft and headed back to the precinct, adding one to the win column.

"Where's Bright?" Gil asked when JT got to his desk.

"Went home for a nap," JT shared.

Gil looked at him skeptically, yet didn't press. "Thanks for taking him. He was looking peaked."

JT gave a small nod.

"Don't know how you did it, but congrats."

"I'm not really sure either," JT returned, and they both chuckled, Gil heading back to his office.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> rocknghorss requested a fic inspired by the line: sometimes it's not the people who change, it's the mask that falls off


End file.
